|Be our guest [to supply some answers].|
Anyhow, yesterday afternoon we watched Beauty and the Beast. Again. (Nora loves her some Belle, but does not care for Gaston or, as she refers to him, Moonstone.)
P.J. walked in during the prologue and was struck by a crucial, heretofore unnoticed point: The enchantress has cast a spell on the horrid prince whom, we're led to believe, is of Key Decision-Making Age. (In my experience with males, this would be roughly 26 years old. But let's give Pre-Beast the benefit of the doubt and say he was mid teen-aged.) And, as everyone knows, the enchanted rose is to bloom until the Beast's 21st birthday, at which point it will start to wither and die tout de suite. Unless someone learns to love and be loved by a beast. (Impossible!)
You're telling me that there's an orphaned, teen-aged prince living somewhere in France, who suddenly and irrevocably is turned into a monster and NOT ONE PERSON IN THE SURROUNDING DUCHY NOTICES? And it's just to be assumed that he did not know one single body who lived outside of the castle walls? No occasionally visiting ambassadors? Tradesmen, troubadours, apple vendors- no one?
Even Belle and her father- who are apparently within a five hour hike of the place- have never heard of this guy? I call shenanigans on his royalty and demand to see some papers.
Also, curses aside, am I to believe that an entire castle can turn to ruins in a matter of five years? We've seen that the staff of candles, clocks and teapots can quite obviously shine up the place in the time it takes to sing a welcoming dinner song, so what gives? If it's a Doom and Gloom kinda spell (and/or the kind of magic that prevents a person from knowing something exists), then the castle crew shouldn't be able to just spring to life for a visitor- nor should Belle ever have been able to just walk into the joint like it was a Howard Johnson's [with shredded tapestries].
This might be a stellar time to take a second and thank all of our veterans and those brave souls currently serving our country. I do realize that I am freed up to blog about film inconsistencies, creatures residing in my house, and awful song lyrics because of the terrific men and women who have protected it. So I thank you. (All.) I could never in a trillion years do what you do (and have done).
Some of us are just slightly better suited to the Yelling At Inanimate Objects line of work.